


All Along the Watchtower

by sleuth



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleuth/pseuds/sleuth





	1. Chapter 1

Sniper was pissed off. Or as closed to being pissed off one can be when they’re exhausted to near delirium. He dragged the pair of binoculars up to glance through them into the horizon, marked out only by the end of the smattering of stars.

_Nothing._

He put the binoculars down again with a sigh, slouching his back. He adjusted his hat to cover his eyes, but sleep refused to come to him. Instead, a nagging voice filled the void:

_Professionals don’t sleep on the job._

Yeah, well, sometimes professionals get very stressed out when extra hours are piled on them with no notice or extra pay!  
He shifted, irritated—by the empty horizon, by Soldier—but above all, himself. He knew it was useless to do so, and it only made things worse, but he couldn’t help but begrudge himself for his insomnia. He’s had it since he was a teen, and was told it’s something you just get over. And he did—for a while. But it always came back in waves at a time, lasting weeks to months, creating a cycle that persisted through the decades of his life.  
  
And when it hit him, it hit him hard. Lack of sleep led to poor performance. Poor performance led to disappointment, which led to self-loathing, which led to stress. Stress led to even less sleep. And on the cycle goes.  
  
So when Sniper was caught snoozing under his hat’s brim during a particularly uneventful day of battle, he was conveniently blamed for their team’s failure. Soldier—that bloody dogfaced rat—immediately reported him to the administrator, who punished the entire team in return, and now everyone blames Sniper for it!  
  
Professionals don’t sleep on the job, but bugger if everyone doesn’t slip up every once in a while. Besides, it’s not like the other team gained some sort of advantage, or the war will end any time soon. Both teams could join together in a bloody _conga_ line and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.  
  
But if you snooze, you lose, as the saying goes, and their team lost the intelligence. Sure, they got it back later, but they had hell to pay for it. And that special hell came in the form of a 24/7 look out on the roof of the highest part of the base, one mercenary at a time, spread out in shifts about two hours long, even longer on days without battles. Sniper, being the scapegoat for the technically-his-fault series of events, received the most unwanted shift, from 2 AM to 4 AM, which also happened to be about the only period of time Sniper could manage to really fall asleep in.  
  
It was also the coldest part of the night, where the wind picks up and runs right through your bones. That, too, prevented him from being able to rest. He held himself tight and shuddered.  
  
A gust of wind whirled through, Sniper clenching his teeth at its unwelcome. But for once the breeze failed, and the true cause of the sound revealing himself beside him.  
  
Sniper started, instinctively raising a hand to his kukri from its sheath. He let it fall once more as he looked up to see Spy, who seemed to have brought something with him.  
  
The Frenchman first shook a folded blanket and rested it on Sniper’s shoulders. He then sat down beside him, lifting one end of the blanket to cover his shoulders, too, and laid out before them two mugs and a warm thermos.  
  
“What’s all this?” Sniper said after staring at these items in confusion.  
  
“This is a mixture of hot chocolate and coffee,” Spy replied as he twisted the lid of the thermos open, and poured some into a mug. He placed it in front of Sniper. Then he filled his own.  
  
“Oh… I mean, what… _why_?”  
  
Spy studied him a moment, then pulled out his cigarette case from his coat.  
  
“This is the deal,” he began, reaching for his lighter, “I keep you company and you return the favor.” He lit his cigarette, and had a puff.  
  
Sniper knit his brows, processing what he had just heard. “Wait, so you want me to stay up for four hours instead of two?”  
  
“Isn’t four hours with a friend better than two alone? Besides, I did bring you this.” He gestured toward their drinks.  
  
Sniper paused in thought. He wasn’t shaking anymore from the cold, especially with a steaming mug of mocha in his hands. He did hate the thought of doubling his shift, but he also knew he wouldn’t sleep easily afterward anyway. And maybe Spy has a point—misery loves company, right?  
  
“Alright, it’s a deal,” Sniper said. Spy hid his smile with a sip from his drink.  
  
A moment of silence fell over them, and Sniper couldn’t help but feel awkward.  
  
“Soooo,” the Australian began, “why me?”  
  
“Well, I _do_ have the next shift.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And I consider you a friend.”  
  
Also right. Sniper and Spy’s friendship is a relatively new thing, since they initially felt animosity toward one another. Despite being on the same team, their rivalries with their counterparts sparked a mutual dislike and distrust. But where the conflict started, it ended: on the battlefield, not through words but actions. Working together, they made quite a team: Sniper on the lookout while Spy crept up on an unsuspecting victim, and Spy picking off those who decide to confront Sniper in his nest. Since then, they developed a sense of respect, and even traded off banter here and there, until they gradually found themselves actually enjoying the other’s company. And though they first seemed polar opposite, they realized they had a lot in common: careful men who thought before they acted, who could keep a cool head in most situations (though Spy does get annoyed with Soldier and Scout, but who can blame him?), who preferred spending most of their time alone, and were reserved without being unfriendly. The pair couldn’t find a more kindred spirit with anyone else on their team.  
  
Sniper smiled. Spy certainly put off an aloof exterior, but he was always so thoughtful. “Thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure,” he replied. “Care for a cigarette?”  
  
“Nah, thanks. Maybe later.” _Really_ thoughtful. “Does this mean you’re not pissed at me for… well, this?” Sniper gestured at their surroundings.  
  
“Of course not. If anyone’s to blame it’s that _connard_ of a Soldier,” he rolled his eyes. “But it hardly matters now.”  
  
“I guess. I mean, I _did_ fall asleep on the job.”  
  
“And it’s foolish to think this will help, when you already look like a raccoon.”  
  
“Hey!” Sniper frowned. “You’re not exactly helping either”  
  
“ _Au contraire_!” Spy retorted, putting out his cigarette before flicking it from the lookout. “Now you are warm, relaxed, and comfortable. Why not sleep now?”  
  
“And you stay up and keep watch?”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
Sniper was almost blown away. “Is there some kind of catch?—if I _do_ fall asleep, that is.”  
  
“None. I just found that it’s quite nice to have someone watch your back on the battlefield.” Spy gave a friendly smile.  
  
Sniper couldn’t help but return it. “All right,” he said, “I’ll try.” He leaned back, closed his eyes. But the situation felt too awkward for him to be able to relax enough to manage even a light snooze.  
  
After a few minutes passed—though it felt like hours—Sniper heard a soft hum begin from the man beside him. The Australian did not open his eyes, but he certainly did not expect a lullaby. He wondered if the Spy thought he had fallen asleep, or that he thought this was supposed to help.  
  
A melody rose in the Frenchman’s throat and his lips parted into a song:

  


“ _Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer_  
 _Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler_  
 _Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes_  
 _Je me fous du monde entier_  
 _Tant qu'l'amour inond'ra mes matins_  
 _Tant que mon corps frémira sous tes mains_  
 _Peu m'importent les problèmes_  
 _Mon amour puisque tu m'aimes…_ ”

  


His voice was sweet and low, comforting like a mother singing her child to sleep. Sniper did not dwell on this analogy, but let himself be soothed by melodious words he did not understand. Slowly, he drifted into sleep, both men with closed eyes pretending they were together, alone, under the stars of the French countryside.  
  
“Status report!”  
  
Sniper startled awake from the gruff voice of Soldier, panicking that he had been caught sleeping again until a second voice responded:  
  
“ _Nothing_.” Spy was audibly annoyed. Soldier took no notice.  
  
“I see Sniper is still here as well!” Soldier clapped the Australian on the back. “Being diligent for a change, I see! Good! Dis-missed!” and he turned away, taking up the binoculars in his hands to stare keenly out.  
  
Spy went down the ladder which lead up to the look-out. Sniper followed.  
  
Inside once more, and both quite fatigued, they found no words to say to one another. Instead, Spy merely shrugged and took his leave. Sniper left in the opposite direction, realizing only until he reached his van back outside that he still had Spy’s blanket draped around his shoulders.

  


  


Their team won the battle that day, so despite the unpleasant task of sitting in the cold to watch over an empty desert, Sniper’s mood had improved. Only a few days ago, he was fretting over his shortcomings, stressed that he was failing his job, and that he was succumbing to its pressures. But the victory, however temporary, lifted the team’s spirits after so many losses.  
Sniper went to his watch, with Spy’s blanket draped over one arm and a pillow tucked underneath the other. Out his camper, in the base, up some stairs, down a hallway, through a door, and up a ladder with a hatch. He dropped the pillow for his seat, and shook out the blanket before wrapping himself in it.  
  
Before he could settle down, a familiar voice greeted him. “You’re late.”  
  
Sniper smiled, sitting down. “I know.”  
  
“I brought tea,” Spy offered as he uncloaked, the familiar thermos and mugs in hand. “Care for some?”  
  
“Oh, sure, thanks. What kind?”  
  
Spy poured some out, sitting down beside him. “Chamomille. It’s relaxing.”  
  
“Mn,” Sniper said, grateful once more for the hospitality but unsure of what to say.  
  
A pause fell over the two.  
  
“You seemed less distracted today,” Spy said as he took a sip.  
  
“Oh?” Sniper raised a brow. “I thought you were supposed to spy on the other team.”  
  
“Of course. But it’s as they say: keep your enemies close, keep your comrades closer.”  
  
Sniper chuckled lightly. “So that’s what this is all about?”  
  
“Partially... Maybe.”  
  
Sniper smirked. “You ever do this with Soldier? His shift is right after yours.”  
  
“Ugh, no,” Spy waved his hand, shooing the idea away as if it was a fly. “The last thing I want to hear is that buffoon barking at such an ungodly hour.”  
  
Sniper laughed. It wasn’t such an unusual thing, for the man to laugh, but it was usually minimized to a bemused grunt or a quiet chuckle at best. Sniper was quiet, withdrawn, serious more often than not. Spy appreciated that about him. But he also took care to appreciate his laugh, hearty but light, with dimples playing on his unshaved cheeks. Spy smiled.  
  
“Yeah, Soldier’s like that,” Sniper nodded with a grin, wiping a tear from his eye. “Bloody fool’s kinda why we’re out here now, eh? No thanks to me, a’course.”  
  
Spy put a supportive hand on the Australian’s back. “Well, thank you anyway,” he said softly.  
  
Sniper looked at him for a moment, but rather than withdraw Spy’s hand softened on his back. Sniper relaxed, leaning his head on Spy’s shoulder. Spy returned the gesture, resting his own head on Sniper’s, and let his hand drop to wrap around his waist. Warm under the cold starlight, they drifted to a peaceful sleep.

  


“ _Sniper_.”  
  
He woke to a whispered voice and a gentle pat on his arm. He turned his head, which somehow managed to slide down to rest in Spy’s lap. Seeing Spy’s face looking down at him, he widened his eyes with sat up with a start.  
  
Just as they assumed a less embarrassing position, the Soldier blasted up to the lookout.  
  
“All clear,” Spy said flatly, giving Soldier a mock-salute before departing.  
  
Soldier turned to Sniper. “Doubling watch again! Good work, private! I’m promoting you to lieutenant!” He reached from his pocket and slapped a flattened bottle cap with a pin through it to Sniper’s chest.  
  
“And watch out for that frog,” he uttered in a low voice, eyeing Spy as he left. “I have a feeling he doesn’t take this mission _seriously_.”  
  
“Uh… Right, mate,” Sniper said.  
  
“Good, then! Dis-missed!” and he clicked his heels together with a salute.  
  
Sniper just gave him a nod, feeling mildly confused, but mostly relieved that Soldier didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. Not that he had reason to.

  


  


Right?

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It was one of those weird days where neither team managed to win, and the Administrator called a draw. In some ways, losing is better—no one enjoys defeat, but at least there is a finality to it which one can’t get in a tie. Instead, it leaves an uncomfortable dissatisfaction, even if the battle was a well-fought one. They’re all losers, as the Administrator likes to say.  
  
In a way, Sniper blamed himself. He had a bad knack of doing that in general, and he knew that, but he couldn’t shake the thought. He felt distracted again, less so because of the usual lack of sleep, nor the sting of shame of his dozing off on-duty, but because his mind simply kept wandering off. Usually, even with dark bags under his eyes, he could focus on his job quite well. Now, he didn’t forgo his job altogether that red afternoon, but his scope kept following a certain friendly Spy. He did manage to do away with any pesky pyros or heavies that felt particularly paranoid when the Frenchman drew near, at least, but following his lead proved a largely ineffective strategy, especially since the Spy himself tended to target those who have isolated themselves. Maybe if he had shot that bloody Medic in time, Sniper thought, they would have won.  
  
But the tie will have to be broken another day.  
  
Sniper felt himself actually looking forward to his night watch shift, but when he arrived to the lookout and found himself alone as the minutes passed he soon deflated. He sat down, with his blanket and pillow as per the previous night, and let out a sigh which rose up in pale whisps. He rubbed his hands together, withdrawing from his coat two bottles of beer he brought to share. Placing them in front of him, he stared at them a moment, and decided to wait a bit more.  
  
It was not in vain. In a time much shorter than what it felt, Spy finally presented himself. Sniper looked up at him, and gestured with an opened arm for him to take a seat. Spy did so, and Sniper raised his arm to tuck one end of the blanket over the other man’s shoulder. Spy reached for it to prevent it from falling, touching Sniper’s hand through the soft fabric. Sniper withdrew.  
  
“I see you’re the one who’s late this time,” the Australian finally said.  
  
“My apologies. Something… held me up,” Spy replied. “I’m afraid I have no beverages to offer.”  
  
“Allow me.” Sniper placed a bottle of beer in front of his companion. “I figure you’re more of a wine type, but it’s what I had,” he added with a shrug.  
“ _Merci_ ,” Spy said, lifting the bottle. “You did guess right, I prefer wine, but I’ll accept for civility’s sake. Besides, it has been a long day.”  
  
“True that.” Sniper pulled out a lighter from his coat pocket and used the butt end to pry off the cap of one bottle, than the other. “Cheers.”  
  
They clinked their bottles. Spy took a brave sip.  
  
Sniper had been far since immune to the taste of cheap beer. Spy, on the other hand, was a man of luxury and immediately, and so immediately expressed his dissatisfaction.  
  
“ _God_ ,” he wheezed. “That is vile.”  
  
Sniper shrugged, fighting against a bemused smirk creeping up in the corner of his lip. “You get used to it.”  
  
Spy shook his head a little, but took another drink with a hard swallow. He then looked over at his companion, who was taking a long swig of the liquid.  
  
“If you just have a little at a time, that’ll take you bloody forever,” the Australian remarked.  
  
Spy glanced down at his bottle. He was right. Like a child being told to take his medicine, but a kind that eased your nerves rather than helped your immune system. He tried for a longer taste, trying to gulp it down fast to spare himself the taste.  
  
He planted the bottle back down in front of him with a sigh, which turned into an involuntary belch. This time, Sniper could not hold back his amusement, and let out a chuckle before he burped himself.  
  
“Charming,” Spy said dryly, but smiled despite himself.  
  
“I got it from the best,” Sniper retorted. He took another swig from the bottle without breaking eye contact.  
  
Spy snorted and rolled his eyes, then leaned in as if to share a secret, “Flattery will get you no where.”  
  
Sniper looked him up and down. “Not so sure about that.”  
  
They stared at each other for a moment. Sniper’s lips parted unconsciously. Spy placed a hand on his thigh. Sniper leaned forward with a tilt of his head and kissed him. Spy kissed back. His lips were surprisingly soft, but unsurprisingly tasted like cigarette ash and beer. They parted slowly, their eyes meeting again. Sniper took in a deep breath as his heart rate caught up to him, and glanced away. Spy removed a now tense hand from his thigh.  
  
He waited for Spy to speak first, but he remained silent.  
  
“Um,” Sniper began slowly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Were you planning that?”  
  
“Were you?” Spy raised a brow. “You started it. You started it a while ago.”  
  
Sniper put a hand to his face as he felt himself flush. After a moment he reached for his beer again to finish it off. Spy followed suit with his own despite the taste—he, too, was having trouble keeping his cool.  
  
“What d’ya mean?” Sniper said finally, betraying some of his anxiousness.  
  
“I’m a spy. Playing dumb won’t fool me,” Spy gloated. “I knew you had a thing for me for quite some time.”  
  
Sniper coughed. “How did you… know?”  
  
“Oh, please. I could feel the laser from your rifle practically burning a hole in my back pocket.”  
  
“I was watching your back!” the Australian snapped defensively.  
  
Spy laughed. “Yes, you were certainly enjoying the show.”  
  
“And you enjoy the attention,” Sniper muttered.  
  
Spy shrugged. “Would you deny me it?”  
  
Sniper pretended to think on it. “Hmmm… Probably not.”  
  
Spy was the one to initiate the kiss this time, placing a hand to the nape of his neck while fingers played with his hair. Sniper wrapped an arm around his waist as the Frenchman proved his kiss to live to his nation’s namesake.  
  
“Shame you taste like your cheap beer,” Spy sighed when they parted, a gloved hand on Sniper’s cheek.  
  
“Yeah, well so did you.”  
  
“True. But it was worth it.”  
  
Sniper smiled. Spy shifted his weight and leaned into Sniper’s arms, resting his eyes.

 

The next day, their team earned a victory.  
  
The battle had been dragged out to last most of the day, with brief periods of quiet during the hottest part of the afternoon. The fight wore each team down well into the sunset, but they pushed on in fear of another tie. Their perseverance paid off, and they won control of the point. For now. Everyone knew it was a fruitless war, that a victory one day would mean a defeat the next, that territory was never permanently lost or gained. But a win was a win, so Sniper rewarded himself with a drink with Demo, then a hot shower. He went to bed early, even managing to sleep despite the post-battle rush and the excitement of going to his night watch (something he never thought he’d look forward to).  
  
Rising from his bed at the alarm was never easier. Exhausted he still was, and his muscles sore, but nearly ran out his camper van to go inside the base and to the look out.  
  
He arrived somewhat early. Demoman was still there from his shift, snoring with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He opened his eye groggily.  
  
“Oh, is it time already?” the Scotsman slurred, swaying as he sat up.  
  
“Yeah, mate. Go get yourself some rest,” Sniper said, helping him up.  
  
“Cheers,” he waved, and stumbled down the latter to make his exit.  
  
Sniper chuckled to himself and shook his head. As the sound of the stomping drunkard faded into the distance, a breeze picked up and Spy appeared, leaving no hint of if he had just arrived or had been waiting for the opportune moment. In one hand, he held a wine bottle. The other, two glasses. He smiled.  
  
“ _Bonjour_ ,” he greeted warmly, and promptly sat next to the Australian.  
  
“’Ello,” Sniper replied, and with a grin he gently pulled him closer.  
  
“I bring you a _Merlot_ ,” Spy said as he began opening the bottle. “It is usually not my preference, but I thought you may enjoy it more than a _Cabernet sauvignon_.”  
  
“Whatever you say,” Sniper shrugged as he watched him pour out the glasses.  
  
Spy lifted his glass and swirled the drink. “Cheers,” he said, and they clinked glasses, and drank.  
  
Sniper took a large gulp and swallowed. He paused, made a face.  
  
“Unlike your cheap beer, wine is to actually be enjoyed,” Spy said.  
  
“I don’t have wine much.”  
  
“I see that.”  
  
“S’not so bad, though,” Sniper shrugged, taking a smaller sip.  
  
“You’re holding the glass all wrong, too,” Spy said. “Here,” and he demonstrated how to do so properly, lifting the glass again with a pause to show Sniper the position of his hand, and took a drink from it.  
“You tryin’ to make a sophisticate out of me or something?” Sniper said cynically, who had been studying the Frenchman’s lips far more than his hands.  
  
“Pfft, that’d be impossible!” Spy said in almost a laugh. “Besides, I like you the way you are.” He smiled. A rosey hue crept up on Sniper’s ears.  
  
“Um… thanks I guess?”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
Spy leaned over and pecked Sniper on the lips. Sniper felt blood rush to his cheeks, but pulled Spy back again for a deeper kiss. The Frenchman relaxed in his arms, cupping his ear with a gloved hand that slid down the back of his neck, then in the front of his shirt. Sniper soon withdrew, losing his courage. But Spy did not remove his hand. Sniper did not protest.  
  
“Sorry,” Sniper stammered, unsure of what to do with his hands. “I—um—I’m not… really… used to this?”  
  
“Shh, it is fine,” Spy cooed, hands massaging Sniper’s chest and shoulders before settling back at his side. “Take your time. We have plenty of it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sniper said weakly, looking off in another direction, eyes gravitating back toward the man next to him.  
  
“I confess, I am quite nervous too,” Spy offered, to ease the tension.  
  
Sniper scoffed in disbelief. “Yeah right. _You?_ ”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But you seem so… I dunno, experienced?”  
  
Spy couldn’t help but grin in amusement, but didn’t let the comment go to his head. Much.  
  
“With women, certainly. There is a method to the courtship of a man and a woman, certain tasks each are expected to perform,” Spy explained. “But with another man, there are none of these rules, no guidelines, no examples, no specified roles. It is like shooting in the dark… but it can also be liberating.”  
  
“Huh…” Sniper uttered, unsure of what to say. Another awkward silence befell the two. Despite it, their hands found each other in the dark, and fingers intertwined, callouses against leather.  
  
“So,” the Australian said at last, “that song you were singin’ a couple nights ago…”  
  
Spy flushed beneath his mask. “Yes?”  
  
“Um. It was nice… could you sing it again?”  
  
Spy coughed. “I suppose,” he said, and took a sip of wine. He swallowed and breathed for a moment to prepare himself. Sniper watched his face.  
  
“ _La ciel blue… sur nous peut s’effondrer…_ ” Spy began, shyly. Sniper moved his hand.  
  
“ _Et la Terre peut bien s’écrouler…_ ” Sniper shifted over, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman from behind. Spy tried to keep his breathing regular.  
  
“ _Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes…_ ” Fingers toyed at Spy’s tie, content to loose it and wrinkle his shirt as they ventured.  
  
“ _Je me fous du monde entirer_ ,” Spy exhaled the words softly, like a confession. Sniper kissed his neck. Spy couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“ _Tant qu'l'amour inond'ra mes matins_ ,” he continued, “ _tant que mon corps frémira sous tes mains…_ ” Sniper’s hands caressed his chest slowly, studying his breathing. Spy feared his heart, beating loud, would betray him.  
  
“ _Peu m'importent les problèmes_ ,” Spy’s voice was a near-whisper. He touched Sniper’s arms as they unfastened his belt, encouraging him.  
  
“ _Mon amour…_ ” He turned, to look at Sniper’s face, “ _puisque tu m'aimes…_ ”  
  
Both paused for a moment to share a kiss, each feeling the other’s shuddering breath. They stopped only to stare at the other.  
  
“Go on,” Sniper encouraged him. Spy turned his head back, watching the Australian resume with fumbling at his pants. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax, leaning back into him. Sniper licked his hand.  
  
“ _J’irais jusqu’au bout du monde_ ,” Spy sang softly, “ _Je me ferais tein—_ “ he gasped as he felt Sniper on him “ _—dre en blonde…_ ”  
  
Spy gripped Sniper’s arm as he began to stroke him, slowly and tenderly to match his song.  
  
“ _J’irais décrocher la Lune, j’irais voler la fortune… Si tu me le demandais_.”  
  
Sniper ran kisses down his neck, equally slow. His unoccupied hand caressed Spy’s thigh, then up his shirt.  
  
“ _Je renierais ma patrie, je renierais mes amis, si tu me le demandais_.” Spy’s song became a plea, Sniper answered it.  
  
“ _On peut bien rire de moi, je ferais n’importe quoi sit u me le demaindais_ ,” his voice rose steadily as Sniper’s pace quickened. Spy concentrated hard not to stumble on a note.  
  
“ _Et si un jour la vie t’arrache á moi, sit u meures que tu sois loin de moi_ ,” Spy reached back to put a hand on Sniper’s thigh, steadying himself as his hips trembled.  
  
“ _Peu m’importe si tu m’aimes, car moi je mourrai aussi._ ” Spy punctuated the words with a moan, arching his back.  
  
“ _Et nous aurons pour nous l’éternité, dans le bleu de toute l’immensité, dans le ciel plus de problémes._ ”  
  
Sniper held him closer, Spy’s grip on Sniper became tighter. Spy leaned his head back to rest on Sniper’s chest.  
  
“ _Mon amour crois-tu qu’on s’aime?_ ;” He paused, nearly breathless. “ _Dieu reunit ceux qui s’aiment._ ”  
  
Sniper took Spy’s chin in his free hand, turning his head to kiss him deeply before Spy could warn him how close he was. But Sniper’s grip was hot on his flesh, and Spy could not resist the pulse that dove through his body as he shuddered into his hand. Sniper kissed him once more, his hand slowing but not withdrawing until some moments later.  
  
Spy couldn’t help but feel some embarrassment as Sniper licked his own hand clean. He zipped and buttoned his pants again, putting on his belt.  
  
“You’ve got a lovely voice,” Sniper cooed into his ear at last.  
  
Spy felt as if his cheeks would burn through the thin fabric of his mask. “And you are… quite skilled with your hands.”  
  
He felt Sniper’s smile on his neck, but let him just hold him for a moment.  
  
“Do you… need me to return the favor?” Spy asked as he turned around to face him.  
  
It was then Sniper’s turn to blush. “Um, n-nah…” he stammered, then added, “Maybe next time.”  
  
Spy leant on him, resting his head on his chest. “As you wish.”  
  
They sat there a moment, Spy resting his eyes while Sniper stroked his back and gazed up at the stars. After some time passed, he leaned back, slowly laying down on the hard floor. Spy adjusted himself to lay beside him, but did not open his eyes or speak a word. Sniper rested an arm over Spy’s waist, looking into his dimly lit face before drifting off, too.

 

Spy was alone when he woke, and for a moment he thought it was all a dream. He looked down at himself, disheveled from more than just sleep, and wondered how he didn’t hear Sniper rise. His thoughts were immediately interrupted by the thunder of Soldier’s boots. Spy straightened himself out somewhat, rising to his feet and exiting. Soldier saluted him, but Spy ignored the gesture. He went to his room, where he stripped first his shoes, then his coat, and then his mask before collapsing on his bed to sleep again.  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Sniper awoke by the sunrise as its light poured through camper van windows. It was his day off—from battle, anyway. He groaned and rolled over, pulling a sheet over his head. But sleep refused to return, no matter how long he lay there with his eyes clamped shut. Eventually he gave up on the feat, stretching as he rose from his bed. His first order of business: _coffee_.

When he finished, he pulled on the pants and shirt he wore the day before, gathered a set of clean clothes, and headed out the door of his van. Luckily, he managed to avoid seeing anyone else on the base—Sniper was not a morning person and dreaded conversation before his morning coffee had a chance to kick in. Even more fortunate was the discovery of the empty locker room on the base. He was used to the others’ company by then, but always preferred being alone, especially for the task of having a shower. It made him anxious, since he grew up a skinny, relatively hairless lad in Australia—a land whose people are thick in muscle and moustache alike. His hygiene, as a result, would often suffer.

But he decided not to dwell on such things, and he grabbed his towel, soap, and shampoo and went about his task. Turning on the faucet, he waited for it to get hot and leaned his head against the tiled wall. He closed his eyes, relaxing under the sensation of warm water running down his back, steam flowing through his nostrils.

He thought of the night before.

Self-doubt flooded his mind. What if it had all been a mistake? It had to be a mistake—Spy is handsome, charming, sophisticated. But Sniper is none of those things. What could Spy possibly see in him? He’s… He stopped himself. Negative thinking would make things worse. Besides, Spy was the one who made the first move, kind of. He initiated their nightly meet-ups—or were they dates? He brought a blanket for them to share, then “forgot” it. He had the idea that they should sleep together—in the literal sense. Hell, he even _sang_ to him. Twice. Sniper couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

So Sniper is not so handsome, far from charming and sophisticated, but he remembered Spy’s voice: “I like you just the way you are.” And that’s not something he’d just say to butter him up—Spy is not like that. And he really did squirm in his arms…. Sniper felt himself blush at the mere thought. He found a hand subconsciously move toward his groin, becoming aroused by his thoughts. He opened his eyes, looking around again to make sure he was alone, and strained his ears to hear for anyone that may be nearby. But there was no one, so he decided, to hell with it, but make it quick. He angled his body so the water would fall on him just right, and began stroking himself. His free hand pressed against the wall to steady himself as he bucked into his hand, closing his eyes to think of Spy’s trembling breath, the little moans he would make as he kissed his neck, the hot, eager flesh of him in his hand, his soft ass as it backed up against him. His voice as he strained to concentrate on singing. The tensing of his thighs as he came close to climax. His lips and tongue as he kissed him deep.

Sniper drifted back to reality as he finished, letting water stream down his back again as he panted. He anxiously looked about him again, and once again reassured that he was alone, washed himself quickly. He dried himself with a towel, and headed back to his locker to put on deodorant and fresh clothing. Lastly, he shaved his face in the mirror, nicking his cheek as he hurried. Feeling renewed, he headed for the mess hall.

Engineer was there, sitting with a mug of coffee as he poured over some blue prints. He lifted his head to nod at Sniper, who returned the gesture, but didn’t speak. Both appreciated the quiet of a morning, and felt no need to disturb it.

Sniper went about fixing himself some toast and eggs, and a bit of tea. As he sat to eat, Engineer left, looking over at him in acknowledgement, and Sniper sighed in relief. It was one of those days (which he had a lot of) he didn’t particularly feel like sharing company. He began to eat.

Spy entered at that moment, seeking a coffee refill. Sniper watched him with some anxiety, but Spy didn’t so much as look in his direction until he finished preparing his beverage. He went to where Sniper was and sat beside him.

“That was a bit of a long shower,” Spy remarked coolly as he lit a cigarette. Sniper nearly spat out his drink.

“So? I was just thinking,” Sniper said defensively.

“What of?”

Sniper looked away, distracted by the way Spy’s lips moved when he spoke, and pursed when he smoked. “Nothing.”

It was a terrible lie, and Spy knew it, and Sniper knew he knew it, but mercifully the matter was not pressed further.

“So,” Sniper said, clearing his throat, “how will you be spending the day off?”

“The usual paperwork, planning for our team’s meeting, going to that meeting where Soldier will inevitably come up with the most ridiculous battle strategy possible, and perhaps manage to get some reading in. Yourself?”

“Well, that meeting I guess, which I forgot we even bloody had,” Sniper shrugged.

“In that case,” Spy smiled, “consider joining me for dinner?”

“What, here?”

“Of course not,” Spy rolled his eyes. “In my quarters. Six o’clock work?”

“Sounds a bit like a date.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Alright,” Sniper said, sealing the deal with a kiss. Just as Spy reaches to touch his cheek, Sniper withdraws again.

Sniper looked over each shoulder. “Shit. I… We could’ve been caught.”

Spy pat his shoulder. “I’m a Spy. I never get caught.”

“Well, I’m not. Either way, we’ve gotta be bloody careful.”

“In that case, I’ll take my leave,” Spy said, cloaking as he rose from his seat. “Six.”  
“Um. Yeah.”

Sniper watched the door swing open, then shut again. He turned back with a sigh. His heart felt tied in a knot, anxiety and anticipation pulling at either end. Collecting himself, he took his dishes over to the sink and left the mess hall to retreat to his van until the meeting began.

“You’re LATE, private!”

It was 3:04 when Sniper entered the meeting hall. “By just a bloody minute,” he groaned.

“FOUR minutes!” Soldier barked.

“Alright, alright, let’s just get on with it.” Sniper took a seat in the back, slouching with a frown.

Before Soldier could press him further, Miss Pauling entered. Soldier saluted her, and sat down.

Miss Pauling threw some papers on the table, adjusted her clipboard, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She pushed up her glasses, and with a sigh, began:

“Alright everyone, let’s make this quick. The other team has a briefcase that contains vital information. It’s located deep within their base, in a similar location where our briefcase is located. So, any ideas how to get it?”

“Leave it all up to me, Miss P,” Scout said with a wink, leaning back in his chair with feet up on the table.

“Great,” she said dryly. “Anybody else?”

Soldier shot up from his seat with a force that caused Scout to fall backwards on the floor. “I will infiltrate their base, blast them all up beyond recognition, grab their intelligence, and destroy it with my BARE HANDS!” He raised his fists in the air for emphasis.

“I’d prefer it if you just bring the briefcase back here.”

“Oh, okay.” Soldier sat down again. Scout glared at him.

“Welp, I’ll guard our intel,” Engineer offered.

“Aye, and I’ll take the rest of our base,” Demo added.

“Heavy and I will make sure their defense doesn’t get too strong,” Medic said. Heavy nodded in silence.

“ _Mrrhrrmahrrrr!_ ” Pyro said excitedly.

“Yes, good, set everything on fire,” Miss Pauling muttered, scribbling away on her clipboard.

“Leave the intel grabbin’ to me,” Scout added, leaning in Miss Pauling’s direction.

“And I will sabotage the enemy’s machines before Scout gets himself killed,” Spy said with a drag from his cigarette.

“Hey!”

“And I’ll just… uh, shoot anyone I bloody see,” Sniper shrugged.

Miss Pauling scribbled quickly, finishing her notes with a semi-audible “Good enough.” She grabbed the papers showing the layout of the enemy base.

“Aw Miss P, gotta leave so soon?” Scout called after her.

“Yes, Scout. I have another meeting in about…” she checked her watch, “fifteen minutes. Goodbye, gentlemen, and good luck.” She exited, shutting the door behind her.

“Alright maggots, you heard the lady! Dis- _missed_!” Soldier saluted them, and marched out.  
Everyone left the meeting room at their own pace. Scout seemed to be asking Engineer for advice, while Medic invited Heavy to a game of chess. Spy hung back, watching the rest leave, and looked to his left to see Sniper did the same.

“So,” Sniper began, awkwardly. “Wanna join me for some coffee?”

“I’ll pass,” Spy said. “I should start preparing dinner.”

“Oh, right. Well, see you this evening.”

Spy watched him leave, finishing his cigarette before departing.

 

Sniper checked his watch anxiously. It was still a quarter until six.

He paced back and forth in his small camper van. Why did he feel so nervous? He didn’t feel this way before he went to meet with Spy each evening. Somehow, this was different. Because it was a date?  
He flushed. But weren’t those night watches they spent together also like dates? Maybe not. Was this really a date? Or was it just a friendly gesture by a co-worker?

No, no, they’re beyond that point. Last night confirmed that.

But what does this mean? Are they dating? Are they in a relationship, or having a fling?

Sniper sat on his bed with a sigh. He felt ridiculous. Like he was back in high school again, worrying over this sort of thing. But somehow, he just couldn’t _not_ worry about it.

He looked down at himself. He was wearing his usual work clothes. He didn’t really have anything else, and certainly nothing formal. He removed his hat, vest, and sunglasses, and went to look in the mirror. He frowned, feeling even more self-conscious. He took out a comb and brushed his hair back. That might be about as good as it gets. He sighed, feeling somewhat defeated, and took out a razor blade. The least he could do is shave away the day's stubble from his cheek.

Sniper paused in front of Spy’s door, raising a fist to knock, then lowering it again. His legs felt jittery. The hair on his arms stood up. He gathered himself, and pressed an ear to the door.

He heard the shuffling of footsteps and pans, the clang of dishes, the sound of water. The low humming of Spy’s voice drifted through the door, barely audible, in some unknown melody. The humming paused.

The door opened. Sniper shot up straight.

Spy raised a brow. “You can come in, you know.”

“I… Okay,” Sniper stammered. Spy had his coat off, sleeves rolled up and hands gloveless. His arms were toned and pale, the hair on his skin dark in comparison.

Taking in all these details, he entered, Spy closing the door behind them. Sniper inhaled deeply.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

Spy smiled, presenting the dish and setting it down in the middle. “ _Gigot d’agneau pleureur_.”

Sniper opened his mouth, but found nothing to say.

“Lamb with potatoes and bell pepper,” Spy translated. “With _Cabernet_.” He brought out the bottle, which he opened and set down on the table. He served Sniper a portion of the dish, then himself, then poured the wine. He sat.

Sniper immediately dug in, forgetting to even _pretend_ to have manners.

Spy sipped wine, beginning his own meal slowly.

Their eyes met, and suddenly Sniper felt hyper aware of himself. He swallowed, reaching for his glass of wine.

“I take it you like it?”

“Yes,” Sniper said quickly. “Best bloody thing I’ve had in ages.” He smiled at him.

“I’m glad.”

 

After they ate, Spy cleared out the dishes. He asked if Sniper cared for more wine. He said no thanks. Sniper asked if he needed any help. He washed the dishes while Spy put everything away and cleaned off the table. They returned there to sit again, Spy leaning forward with elbows on the table. Sniper was the first to speak.

“So where’d you learn to cook like that?” he offered a smile.

Spy returned it. “Well… my mother.”

Sniper didn’t even consider him having parents. Spy had always been such a mysterious figure, it seemed like he had no past at all. Sniper suddenly thought of what his previous life might have been like, him growing up in France. How any of their team’s lives were like before they all became mercenaries.

Spy had paused, looking at his own hands. His face had grown solemn. Sniper figured it wasn’t a subject he wanted to talk about. He tried to think of something to change the subject.

“So, um…” he thought aloud. “We’ve got another battle tomorrow.”

Spy rolled his eyes at him. “Oh, _please_. I’ve had enough talk about work for the day.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Anything, else, that is.” His eyes wandered, as if the answer was in the room. They settled on Sniper. “How about you?”

“I dunno, I’ve never been the best conversationalist,” he admitted.

Spy’s lips curved in amusement. “No, I meant, we could talk about you.”

“….Oh.” Sniper rubbed the nape of his neck. He wasn’t used to socializing often, much less about himself. He was a private person, and didn’t even think he was very interesting.  
“What did you do, before you got into this business?”

Sniper gazed at him. “I tracked animals.”

“Really. What kinds of animals?”

“All kinds. Owls, koalas, kangaroos, emus, crocodiles…”

“Crocodiles?” Spy said with a horror in his voice.

“Especially crocodiles,” Sniper said with a grin. “People nearly hunted those things to bloody death. So I’d often have to follow ‘em, occasionally shoot one with a dart and tag ‘em.”

“I can’t imagine why you would want to do that.”

“To observe ‘em. I used to be a hunter, but I found I liked watching animals a lot more than shooting ‘em. I used to keep sketchbooks filled with drawings of all kinds of animals.”

“Really?” Spy said, eyes wide with interest. “Do you still have those?”

“Um, not from back them. I don’t draw much anymore.”

“Much?”

“Every now and then,” he shrugged.

“I would love it if you showed me.”

Sniper felt the blood run to his face under Spy’s sudden questions. He never thought much about the drawings he did, much less actually show them to anyone. Especially not Spy. Weren’t the French all arty anyway? He felt embarrassed.

“I dunno, it’s nothing special.”

“Nonsense,” Spy said, patting Sniper’s hand. “You have a keen eye. And work well with your hands.”

Sniper nearly choked. “Maybe… later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Spy said with a smirk, and took a cigarette out from a case in his coat pocket. He gestured at Sniper, offering one, and he obliged. They leaned in, pressing the ends of the filters together as Spy lit them simultaneously. Each drew a long breath. Spy looked into Sniper’s face for a response.

Sniper was used to the cheapest brand he could possibly find. He knit his eyebrows a moment, as if to discern what exactly he was smoking. The taste was odd, but not bad. The fact they were menthols helped.

“Surely you ran into some danger on your old job?” Spy said, steering the conversation back on track. “I’d much rather take on Heavy when he’s angry than a crocodile.”

“Me too,” Sniper said with a chuckle. “Though there was one time where…”

Some of Sniper’s stories were bewildering to Spy, and others were down right hilarious. They talked for hours, not just of crocodiles, but also of life, their colleagues, and all the bizarre misadventures they shared before and during their current employment. But eventually, their talk tumbled into a drawn out pause.

Sniper checked his watch. He figured it was time to head back. “Well, um…”

“Stay?” Spy interjected.

“Huh?”

“The night. If you wish,” he stammered. Behind the fabric of his mask, a rosy hue danced on his cheeks.

Sniper was speechless.

“I’m not propositioning you,” Spy added quickly. “Unless you want—”

“No, no,” Sniper said as he drew closer. “Not… yet.” He put a hand on Spy’s shoulder. Spy cupped the back of Sniper’s neck. Their lips pressed together. Spy tasted like wine and tobacco. His lips were slow and soft. Sniper hugged him closer. His heart burned in his chest, not with lust, but something else entirely.

They drew apart, but Sniper still held him in his arms. He studied his face, and watched Spy’s eyes as he gazed into his own. Sniper imagined his mind to be a camera, and he was taking a snapshot of this moment to look back on forever.

“We have a long day tomorrow,” Spy whispered. “We should get some rest.”

Sniper’s arms fell from his waist. “Yeah…”

“There should be an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.”

“Thanks.”

Sniper went to brush his teeth. When he finished, he washed his face. He looked in the mirror for a moment, hands placed firmly on the counter as he calmed himself mentally. He hasn’t shared a bed with another man in… Well, it doesn’t matter. Besides, they’ve slept by the other several times already. He decided he was too tired to be nervous.

He exited the bathroom and went into Spy’s bedroom. He looked at his surroundings, which were pristine and orderly, which one would expect from Spy, but it was also very simple, which one would not. On a bed stand sat an ash tray and a book with a French title. His bed was a decent size, larger than his own tiny cot.

Sniper undressed, setting his clothes down in a pile in one corner. With some hesitation Sniper carefully peeled open the blankets of the bed and slid in. The sheets were cold at first, but it was soft… and smelled like Spy.

The bedroom door opened, then closed. Spy took off his vest, his tie. Sniper couldn’t help but stare. He started to unbutton his shirt… and stared back. Sniper shut his mouth, glancing away, but when he looked back Spy met his gaze. He finished the buttons slowly, and tossed his shirt to the side, revealing only a sleeveless undershirt beneath. Sniper took in the curving sinews of his arms, the somewhat surprising amount of hair on his chest (he had even more than Sniper), and the scars of battle that freckled his skin more like beauty marks than blemishes. Spy removed his pants, revealing his thin legs.

Spy slipped into the bed beside him, turning off the light of the lamp. In the darkness, he removed his mask. Sniper gingerly raised a hand to touch his face. Spy turned his head toward him, inviting. Sniper continued, carefully tracing the bristles on his chin, to his nimble cheek bones, to his hair. Sniper ran his hand through his hair, to the nape of his neck. His hair was fairly soft considering it’d been hiding under a mask all day, and was longer than Sniper expected. Spy shifted in closer, touching his forehead to Sniper’s shoulder. Sniper wrapped his arms around him, smelling his hair. It smelled rich, the scent of the day, of rain, of cologne, but mostly of Spy. He fell asleep with his face in that hair.

 

Sniper stretched, opened his eyes slowly. It was still dark. As the sensation of the warm bed crept back into his nerves, he remembered where he was. He sat up. Spy was not there. He rose from the bed to see if he was elsewhere in his quarters, but after scouring the area it was evident he was gone.

Well, he’s a spy after all. Spies do… spy things, right? But he didn’t feel reassured. He couldn’t help but wonder if Spy woke up, realizing this was all a mistake, and left him for the night. But he would return, eventually… And what, then?

Sniper paused, realizing he had been pacing. He decided he should just go back to his van. He groggily put his pants on, losing balance as he stood on one leg. After adjusting his belt, he started to put on his shirt.

A creaking sound, long and shy. A door closing. Careful footsteps. Spy entered the room. He was fully dressed, plus an overcoat for the cold.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I dunno, where’ve you been?” Sniper said, somewhat defensively.

Spy laughed. “The night watch, remember?”

Of course! How could he have forgotten?

“ _Shit_.” Sniper felt terrible. “I’m sorry, Spy. You didn’t sit out there for four bloody hours, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Spy said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up. “I simply went out there just before Soldier would come out, then came back.”

Sniper couldn’t help but smile, chuckle. “Really? What if he didn’t find you out there?”

“I’m a Spy. I don’t get caught.”

Sniper was sure he winked in the darkness.

“Come back to bed with me,” he continued as he undressed. “It was quite cold out. I could use the warmth.”

Sniper obliged, removing his clothes again and they both went under the blankets. They laid on their sides, Spy facing away so Sniper could hug him from behind, drawing him in close.

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away,” Spy whispered, in jest.

“Just warming you up, mate.”

Spy held Sniper’s hand in his own. Sniper squeezed back, relaxed again. He hadn’t rested so well in ages.


End file.
